Lily in the Garden of the Grasses

Oh so to love her,
to Lily in the garden of the grasses,
wreath of green in her hair.

When we missed her we lit them,
bonfires red bursting like the sun,
the sun oh sun
flickering gently in the wind.

That we did miss her.

Lily to her name forward,
Can you hear those old bells ring?
Can't you hear those old bells ring?

It is frosty and it dies;
it is dark and it withers,
it withers with her, whether
thither or else it blows away

Oh lovely you, quite less a Minerva who
flies gently like the carriage of sweet.